


Confession Trilogy

by Telaryn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Begging, Bloodplay, Bondage, Confessions, Dom/sub, Episode Related, Episode Tag, Flogging, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, M/M, Multi, Possessive Dean Winchester, Priest Kink, Sibling Incest, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-13 19:52:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/828200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telaryn/pseuds/Telaryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set approximately six weeks after "Lucifer Rising".  Sam hasn't been able to shake what happened, and is slipping into a deep and profound depression.  Dean does what he can to help, but eventually Sam starts looking to a higher authority for absolution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bless Me Father, for I Have Sinned

He wields the lash with a practiced hand. Even though this body was never intended to be his, Castiel knows that some skills transcend simple muscle memory. He moves with confidence around his target, striking with an inhuman precision at irregular intervals. The goal here is to cut, to hurt, to bleed – not to destroy.

_Sam… kneeling naked on the carpet in front of him. His own hand fisted in Sam’s hair, forcing him to look up – to see and accept the truth of what he’s been praying for. “Forgiveness does not come without confession of your sins, Sam Winchester. True absolution comes at an even higher price to the soul.”_

He had known immediately he would need a blindfold. Those dark hazel eyes – so vulnerable, so trusting in the face of Heaven’s wrath – would otherwise be his undoing.

Memory of how close he’d come to taking full advantage of Sam’s submission in that first insane moment makes him falter his next stroke. He lowers the whip, using the pretense of checking his handiwork in order to not panic Dean.

He glances across the room, where Sam’s brother sits watching them. True to his word, Dean has not left his chair once – not given any hint to Sam that he is even in the room.

His presence here is a calculated risk. The truths Castiel has beaten out of Sam so far have been ugly and painful – raw, festering wounds much deeper than the slashes he has carved in Sam’s back over the last hour and a half.

Before they can begin to truly heal, however, Sam will need forgiveness. And for all his talk of Divine Absolution, Castiel knows that in the end the only forgiveness that will matter comes from Dean.

As always, Dean’s attention is laser focused on his brother. Castiel has already seen a full range of emotions cross his face – worry, fear, anger and love. More than once Dean has wiped away silent tears, as he bears witness to the profound self-hatred that has been allowed to grow unchecked in his brother’s soul.

 _He is not the only one who weeps tonight._ Castiel knows if he touches the dark cloth covering Sam’s eyes, it will be damp.

He decides he doesn’t trust himself that far. Instead he coils the whip, slowly and deliberately, watching Sam’s reactions and using the time and activity to try and master his own.

Sam is clearly exhausted – not quite limp against the cuffs binding his arms overhead, but close. His skin is flushed, shining with sweat, and fine tremors are starting to shiver their way across his shoulders. Castiel looks him over, top to bottom, pausing only briefly at his cock – which, contrary to all reason and sense, is hard.

_“This is not some game you and your brother play for your mutual gratification. You are bending your knee to Heaven now, begging me to punish you in His name.”_

He knows what they do when they’re alone – knows how they share their feelings and their need. He closes his eyes, swaying slightly on his feet as the mingled scents of Sam’s fear and arousal crawl inside him...take root low in his body. Castiel knows this isn’t supposed to be about his weakness, and how Sam Winchester tempts him so deeply. This is about Sam and Dean – seeing them whole – and what is being asked of him in the here and now.

He knows all of this, and in a tiny hidden corner of his heart, he is still afraid.

_“If I agree to this, you will be confessed in the old way. You will place yourself entirely at my mercy. You will be stripped bare, inside and out, and I will have all your secrets before we finish.”_

Sam has done everything required of him, and Castiel knows in the depth of his soul that will be the end of him.

He is jolted suddenly out of his musings by the realization that there is a drop of blood hanging unbroken at the corner of Sam’s mouth – shining dark red against the swell of his lip. Running everything back in his mind, Castiel realizes the injury must have happened early on, when Sam was struggling not to cry out under the strokes of the whip. He feels a rush of self-recrimination. _It shouldn’t have happened._

He reaches up with a finger, intending only to brush the offending droplet away. What happens next is beyond anything he could have expected. Sam’s entire body comes alive, mouth open and gasping at the feather-light brush against his lips. Entranced, Castiel watches him for a second, then traces two fingertips lightly across Sam’s tongue.

Sam reacts immediately, closing his lips on Castiel’s fingers and sucking them deep into his mouth. The sensation is amazing, sending an explosion of pleasurable nervous shocks racing through his body. Without fully realizing what he’s doing, Castiel begins sliding his fingers in and out of Sam’s mouth.  
***************************  
 _Okay, that was…unexpected._

Unexpected, but not unwelcome if Sam’s reaction is any indication. His brother is leaning forward, straining against his bonds, eagerly deep-throating Cas’s fingers. After the better part of an hour and a half listening to Sam’s self-hatred being literally beaten out of him, the shift is jarring.

And, if Dean is being perfectly honest with himself… _really_ hot.

Cas continues fucking Sam’s mouth with his fingers, and Sam is obviously more than happy to let him do it. Dean’s breath quickens, and he shifts in his chair to a more comfortable position. His dick is already painfully hard, and these weren’t his best fitting jeans to begin with.

After what seems like an eternity, Cas pulls out. Sam leans forward, chasing after his fingers for a moment, before relaxing, and accepting that the game has changed. Dean swallows, not daring to believe Cas will go there, and knowing that if the angel won’t do it – he will. _He’s right there, practically begging for it!_

Castiel shifts position, reaching behind Sam. One look at his brother’s face is all Dean needs to confirm that yes, Cas is going there. Even with the blindfold in place, Dean knows that look – knows the moment when Cas has buried those same two fingers in Sam’s ass.

Mentally throwing up his hands, Dean decides ‘screw the plan’ – there’s no way he’s going to just sit here and do nothing while Castiel does _that_.

As quietly as he can, Dean undoes his fly and pulls out his cock – already hard and aching as a result of the scene playing out in front of him. Sam is moaning loudly now, moving in time with each thrust of Cas’s fingers. Dean can almost picture it – he doesn’t dare move to a better vantage point for confirmation, but if he could he knows Castiel is working Sam achingly slow. Stretching him, probing him – finding just the right spots and stroking them over and over.

Dean palms the head of his cock, working himself until his hand is slick with precum. By the time Cas picks up his pace, Dean is running his fist up and down the length of his shaft, fighting the urge to go over to the two of them and finish Sam off himself. He licks his lips and jacks himself faster, the sight of Sam burning into his brain – blindfolded…helpless…desperately fucking air as his body searches for a release.

Lost in his own building orgasm, it takes Dean a moment to realize Castiel is busy undoing his own pants, as he continues pegging Sam’s ass with his fingers. As the pieces come together, Dean nearly loses his mind.

They’ve shared women, plenty of times. He’s seen Sam in every stage of sexual arousal, fucked him more times and in more ways than either of them wants to remember, and he’s never, even in his darkest fantasies, envisioned the truth of this. Fingers curl around Sam’s hips, dig in so hard Dean’s sure there are going to be bruises, and that first thrust is literally the hottest thing he’s ever seen in his life. Castiel takes Sam in one long, deep, impossibly graceful motion – Dean’s dick twitches in sympathy as Sam screams his gratitude and relief.

Dean forces himself to slow down. A little finger play is one thing – he would have happily gotten off on that and gone on about his day. This? This is an order of magnitude more fucked up, and he's determined to enjoy every last minute of it.  
*******************************  
Castiel has to pause a moment after his first thrust to catch his breath. His fingers clench around Sam’s hip bones, pressing dimples into the smooth skin, finding his purchase. His own hips are locked in against Sam’s ass, and his dick feels like it’s about to explode. In two thousand years, he has never dreamed anything could feel as good as this.

Bracing himself, Castiel rocks his hips down and back, pulling away in a smooth, steady motion. The reaction from Sam is immediate – moans of pleasure that tighten areas low in his body.

As he fucks him, Castiel’s attention is drawn to the latticework of slashes he’s made on Sam’s back – some of them still weeping blood. Leaning in, he blows across one, and is rewarded when Sam whimpers aloud at the sensation. He smiles, realizing that he likes it when Sam whimpers - more than any of the other sounds he’s heard him make tonight. Giving in to an impulse, Castiel runs the tip of his tongue along the length of one of the other stripes, tasting the metallic tang of blood. Sam jerks, pushing his hips back more forcefully than before.

Castiel spends some time then, exploring his handiwork - remembering each of Sam’s responses to the different stimuli, filing them away… _for what?_ he wonders.

Finding no easy answers to the question, he banishes it from his thoughts - quickening his pace and settling firmly back into the here and now. Sam is tight around his cock… _so hot…oh God…_ setting up his own counter-rhythm now, and Castiel is overwhelmed by how good it feels.

Inexperienced as he is, some instinct left over from his human host starts whispering to him that he can’t keep this up much longer. Glancing past Sam’s shoulder, he sees Dean stroking his own cock. His face is a mirror, reflecting back to Castiel the effect he is having on Sam.

What he sees decides him. He releases one of Sam’s hips, threads fingers through sweat-soaked, tangled locks of hair…jerks up hard. Sam whimpers once, and goes still under the angel’s grip. Castiel has been an efficient teacher tonight, and Sam a willing and attentive student.

“Ask me.”

He doesn’t have to explain – the litany bursts out of Sam without hesitation. “Please Cas. Oh God, please. I need to come so bad – please let me come, oh God, Cas…please.” Castiel can’t be sure, but he thinks Sam might be crying again.

He glances quickly at Dean for confirmation. Dean’s mouth is slack, and his green eyes have gone glassy with lust. His fist is a blur across the skin of his cock. “Do it,” he mouths, still retaining enough presence of mind to not betray himself to Sam.

Tightening his grip, Castiel reaches around, grabs Sam’s cock and strokes outward. The response is immediate and electric – a long, ragged scream of pleasure, as Sam locks up against his restraints. Castiel is slamming his hips into Sam now – Sam’s cock heavy and warm in his fist. He squeezes his eyes shut, grabbing desperately for that bright shining point of release.

They come together, he and Sam, and it is a moment of ecstasy like nothing Castiel can reliably remember. The world bleeds away in a wash of white, and the force of his orgasm staggers him. Sam’s dick twitches and spasms in his grip, spilling hot, thick liquid over his fist. It is a moment Castiel knows on some level lasts only half a dozen heartbeats, but to his physical body it seems to stretch on for a lifetime.

Across the room, Dean has gone rigid – thick ropes of come shooting out from the end of his cock.

Sam isn’t the only one screaming anymore.


	2. Lead Us Not Into Temptation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the AU prequel to Bless Me Father, For I Have Sinned... I had initially drafted it as the beginning of "Bless Me", and couldn't resolve the direction Cas seemed determined to take things.

_“Cas, man – I’m out of options. He’s slipping away from me, and I don’t know how to fix it.”_

What neither of them can admit is that Dean can’t fix what’s wrong with Sam. The very nature of their relationship negates him being able to take the kind of firm hand Sam needs to start setting things right again. _And if we lose one, we lose the other._

So Castiel has swallowed his misgivings, and agreed to do whatever was necessary.

He’d never intended for things to go this far.   
**********************************************  
Sam is on his knees, head bowed – tension screaming through every line of his body. Castiel freezes – momentarily unsure whether he should interrupt. It goes against his nature to come between man and God in time of prayer.

 _He’s been praying for weeks._ Castiel has not received revelation on this matter, but he suspects they’re well past that point now. “Sam.”

Sam flinches at the sound of his voice – a guilty flush on his cheeks as he looks up at Castiel. “Cas.” He braces himself on the nearby table, starts to push himself to his feet. Castiel is at his side in an instant, hand on his shoulder, pressing him back on his knees.

“You were praying.”

Sam ducks his head, unable to maintain eye contact. “I didn’t know…” He swallows, and Castiel can see him trying to collect himself. “I didn’t know what else to do.” His voice is steadier, but still little more than a whisper.

Castiel sighs gently, seeing for the first time the depth of Sam’s despair and frustration. Reaching out, he tips Sam’s head up and back – forcing the eye contact Sam himself is too scared to make on his own. “You have been heard.”

Sobs rip through Sam’s chest, making him shake against Castiel’s touch. “I’m sorry, Cas. I’m so, so, sorry.” Tears spill over his cheeks, splash against the angel’s wrist. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to make it right.”

“Sam.” His voice is sharper now. Sam flinches, but manages to calm himself. “Do you understand what you are asking for?”

Closing his eyes briefly, Sam nods quickly.

Castiel’s hand drops to his side, and he steps back a pace. “Forgiveness does not come without confession of your sins, Sam Winchester. True absolution comes at an even higher price to the soul.” They are entering dangerous waters now, and despite his promise to Dean, Castiel knows he cannot continue without something resembling informed consent.

He watches Sam grapple with the implications, and is relieved to see a gleam of understanding in his eyes. 

“If you wish me to be your confessor,” Castiel says at last, “that is within my power.” He gestures sharply, silencing whatever Sam was about to say. “If I agree to this, you will be confessed in the old way. You will place yourself entirely at my mercy. You will be stripped bare, inside and out, and I will have all your secrets before we finish.”

He has Sam’s full attention now, and Castiel briefly senses him reconsidering the entire operation. _Good._

In the end, however, Sam makes the only answer he can. “I’m ready.”

Castiel studies him for a long moment, then nods sharply and makes the only answer he can. “Remove your clothes.”

He retreats slightly, watching as dispassionately as he can as Sam pulls off his shirt. The nearby lamplight catches the swell of his muscles, throwing them into sharp relief. _So much strength, in so young a package._

So much centered on one man who until recently had no idea how important he was.

Castiel’s mind starts to drift ahead, focusing on the particulars. _Whip, chain, cuffs, blindfold._ He looks up at the ceiling overhead, idly scanning for weaknesses in the structure.

Movement catches his attention – Sam getting to his feet in order to remove his shoes. Their eyes meet for a second, before Sam nervously looks away. It’s only a flash of contact, but a nervous flutter threads its way through Castiel’s gut - leaving a pleasurable tightness in its wake. _Definitely blindfolded._ Nothing requires that the penitent be robbed of his sight, but Castiel knows the trust in those eyes will be his undoing.

Sam finishes disrobing and faces Castiel again – his expression showing more than a little uncertainty, now that he’s committed himself. Gathering himself for the ordeal ahead, Castiel pushes off the wall and closes half the distance separating them in two confident strides. “Kneel.”

His reaction is immediate – as much a response to the bite of command in the angel’s tone as the instruction itself. Castiel begins slowly pacing a circle, marking Sam’s posture, his expression – anything and everything that can be used to help achieve their goal. When Sam turns to keep Castiel in view, the angel grabs him firmly by the back of the head, and reorients his attention to a spot on the floor. “Don’t move.”

A tremor shivers across Sam’s shoulders – the only visible sign of his growing fear. 

Finishing his circuit, Castiel crouches close in front of Sam – deliberately violating what the humans call his “personal space”. He turns Sam’s face toward his, forcing eye contact once more. “Understand me well, Sam Winchester. This is not some game you and your brother play for your mutual gratification. You are bending your knee to Heaven now, begging me to hear your sins and punish you in His name. There will be no ‘safe word’ here in this room tonight. Only repentance, true and deep, will buy you your release.”

Sam tries to look away…can’t. He swallows twice against a throat gone tight and dry before he can manage to whisper, “Yes, sir.” Castiel holds his attention for a moment, then nods in satisfaction – redirecting Sam’s focus back to the floor.

Getting to his feet again, Castiel goes directly to the drawer Dean has told him about. His gaze passes quickly over the jumbled assortment of items – the only things he takes for himself are a heavy black blindfold, a whip, and a pair of thick, sheepskin-lined cuffs. He returns to Sam’s side then, kneeling in front of him.

Sam manages to keep his head down, but Castiel can see his eyes widen in surprise. He sets the blindfold and whip on the nearby table, and shows Sam the cuffs. “Give me your wrists.” It takes Sam a moment to respond, and Castiel tenses slightly – waiting for him to panic.

One deep, shuddering breath, and the moment passes. Sam extends his arms, muscles so tight they’re cording under his skin. Castiel leans in, buckles on the first cuff. As he shifts around to get a better angle on the second wrist, Castiel’s thigh brushes lightly against Sam’s now-hard cock.

They’re close enough, that Castiel can feel Sam tense, hear the quiet hiss of his indrawn breath. To his credit, Sam doesn’t say anything, doesn’t break position. Castiel finishes with the second cuff and gets to his feet again, guiding Sam’s arms behind his back. A gleaming silver quick-release dangles from one d-ring – he uses it to fasten the cuffs together. Immediately Sam pulls against the connection – testing his bonds.

 _So much power…_ He wonders again if he’s making a mistake, if he should refuse to see this through. _They don’t know you are compromised._ Sam’s arousal in this situation is not unexpected. It can be handled, controlled – turned in service of the ultimate goal.

His own physical response to Sam chained and kneeling submissively at his feet is another matter entirely. 

_You can’t stop._ The brothers are both looking to him for help, each in their own way. How can he refuse them anything after everything they have endured?

He grabs the blindfold, realizing when he turns that Sam is watching him. “Eyes down.” Once he has obeyed, Castiel steps in on him again. The point of Sam’s shoulder brushes against his crotch, freezing him in place for a heartbeat and making him painfully aware of his own erection.

Forcing himself past the moment, Castiel blindfolds Sam. He waves his hand in front of the black cloth – Sam’s lack of response reassures him that whatever happens next, Sam won’t be able to see.

Alone for a moment - even if it is only symbolic - Castiel retreats to the wall, still facing Sam. “From this point forward, you will speak only when spoken to.” He clears his throat, tries to steady himself. “I am empowered to use whatever means necessary to have your confession.” He is babbling now, reciting the litany in an attempt to distract himself. His palm skims across the front of his own trousers, stroking the now aching bulge between his legs.

Castiel’s breath hisses out between his teeth, and he closes his eyes against the urges rising up inside him. The failings of his physical form are fast becoming a distraction, threatening everything that still needs to happen. 

_You have consent._

Pushing that thought to the darkest recesses of his mind, Castiel fumbles with the button on his pants, opens his zipper, reaches in and pulls out his cock. He’ll jerk himself off. It won’t take long – Sam will never know – and then his mind will be clear for the work ahead.

“Meditate on your sins, Sam Winchester. Consider what you will bring out of this night.”

His hand is circling his shaft, when Castiel finds his attention drawn to the curve of Sam’s mouth. He knows what they do in the dark together, how they feed emotion and need. Heart thudding against his chest, hardly daring to breathe, Castiel closes on Sam again.

Reaching out with his free hand, he twines his fingers in Sam’s sweat-soaked dark hair, tugs him closer. Sam gasps in surprise at the touch, but offers no resistance. “Open your mouth.”

Blood roaring in his ears, Castiel guides his cock to Sam’s lips. Sam looks briefly startled at the first brush of skin, but then he leans into Castiel’s grip – swallowing him to the root in a single move. Castiel inhales sharply, knees buckling slightly. He flexes his fingers in Sam’s hair, trying desperately to steady himself.

 _Slow, sweet drag of lips and tongue against his cock, enveloping him in an impossibly wet heat…_ Castiel struggles to control his breathing, content to let Sam set the pace at first. He watches, transfixed, as Sam’s head moves back and forth, setting his nerves on fire.

_Please…God…yes…_

He has no idea how much time has passed, when Sam moans low in his throat. The sound vibrates through Castiel, tightening things low in his body. Growling softly, hand still twisted in the strands of dark hair, he fucks into Sam - grabbing control for himself. Sam is soon struggling under the ferocity of his thrusts, nostrils flaring as his body tries to take in enough oxygen to continue functioning.

 _So close…_ Castiel is barely aware of Sam now, so focused is he on the moment of release shining in front of them. When he finally comes, he nearly collapses – body jerking and stuttering as he unloads into Sam’s throat. Sam swallows convulsively, draining him well beyond what Castiel would have thought his human body was capable of.

Reality blurs around them as he finally pulls free. Sam leans after him blindly, determined to clean every inch of his cock. Breathing heavily, trying desperately to regain some semblance of balance, Castiel does not fight the gesture - shivering as Sam laves his tongue over the shrinking folds of skin.

 _Compromised._ He can’t fight it – can’t deny it – not after what has just happened.

Finished with his self-appointed task, Sam sits back on his heels; pulling free of Castiel’s now slackened grip. Castiel lets him go, troubled to see how calm he is.

_You had consent._

Castiel shivers again, deciding that he’ll deal with the implications of that later. No matter his own failings, there is still work to be done this night.

He is still needed.


	3. Deliver Us From Evil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the sequel to Bless Me Father, For I Have Sinned..., the final part of this particular story, and my first ever public posting of Wincest. Wasn't happy with early versions of the story, and it turned out to be because Dean had very definite ideas how things needed to end up.

They call it ‘floating’ – Sam can’t remember where he learned the term or when. _A sympathetic nervous system response, which causes a release of epinephrine from the suprarenal glands, as well as a dump of endorphins and enkephalins._

Yeah. That about sums it up.

He’d never intended for things to go this far – never in his wildest dreams imagined Castiel would be willing to take things this far. _You will be stripped bare, inside and out, and I will have all your secrets before we’re through._ Cas had more than followed through on his promise, taking everything Sam was willing to give, and then demanding more. He’d left Sam hollowed out, completely detached from the pain and anger and fear that had weighed him down for so long.

For the first time since his own death, Sam Winchester is at peace.

The stillness doesn’t last. As the endorphins flooding his system start to wane, memories begin creeping back in; long-buried secrets and shame finally given voice.

_They didn’t want me. I would have done anything they asked, and it didn’t make a difference._

He’d spent so much of that summer trying to drown his pain in alcohol and violence, and all it had bought him in the end was a painful awareness of how worthless he was. One particularly nasty crossroads demon had delighted in driving home the point that Sam’s life – his soul – didn’t matter to them. He was nothing more than a means to an end, and they already had what they wanted.

He realizes with a jolt that the memory doesn’t hurt any more. For the first time in a year, he can remember without the weight of all the associated emotions.

_He told Dean to kill me. He died for Dean, and he told my brother to kill me._

That one still cuts a little. It’s older…better rooted. Sam breathes in, exhales, lets it go for now.

_Why did he leave me? I don’t know who I am without him._

He can’t hold back the small sound in his throat, remembering how deeply it had hurt voicing that one. It was the heart of nearly every discussion he’d tried to have with his brother, going back to the moment Dean had made the deal to save his life. He’d been left with no choice, no way to make things right again, and Dean had never once given him a clear indication that he understood.

“Hold him.”

Sam flinches at the sound of Castiel’s voice. Awareness of his surroundings slams back into place, stealing the last of his rush, and leaving him trembling on his feet.

Arms circle his chest. A denim-clad hip and thigh lock in behind one of his legs, bracing him upright. _Not Cas._ Sam feels the brush of a chair being set on his other side, hears Castiel climbing, feels the tug on his arms as the angel begins loosening his restraints.

Smell of sweat and sex in his nostrils – not his, but just as familiar. “Dean?” Panic and shame coil low and tight in his gut as he pieces together what’s happened. _No…God, no…he’s been here the whole time._ Sam tenses against Dean’s grip on him. _He heard everything…saw everything._ His eyes start to burn under the press of the blindfold.

 _How could Cas do this to me?_ The feeling of betrayal overwhelms him – sickens him. Sam struggles weakly, trying to find the strength to stand on his own. Before he can manage to get his feet solidly under him, however, the chains holding his arms overhead give way. He collapses in Dean’s arms – virtually dead weight.

“Shush, Sammy. I’ve got you.” Dean takes him carefully to the floor, minding the wounds on his back – all the while bearing the bulk of Sam’s weight in his arms. Sam finally quits fighting, surrendering to Dean’s control.

 _He heard everything._ Sam can’t kick his brain off that realization. He doesn’t have it in him to remember everything he confessed under Castiel’s whip, but he knows it was more than he ever expected Dean to hear. _How can he stand it?_

“Easy.” Dean murmurs, settling Sam more comfortably against his chest. His free hand brushes Sam’s face, fumbling with the blindfold. “Close your eyes.” Sam obeys immediately. Dean pushes the damp fabric up and over his head, leaving behind a strong glow of light that presses warmth against his eyelids. “Slowly.”

Even knowing in advance how much it’s likely to hurt, Sam can’t suppress a hiss of pain as full light hits his eyes again. It takes a moment for his vision to clear, but when it does the first thing he sees is not Dean’s face – but Castiel’s. A jolt of fear stiffens him in Dean’s arms. “We’re not finished.”

Terrified, desperate, Sam looks up at Dean. His brother’s eyes are kind – understanding – but his expression offers Sam no out whatsoever. “You heard the man.”

Sam looks back at Castiel, a cold calm stealing over him as he waits for instructions.

The angel is quiet for a long moment, studying him. Finally Cas nods – presumably pleased with what he sees. “On your knees.”

Tears spill out of Sam’s eyes, tracing hot trails down his cheeks. He can’t do it. The idea of moving after everything he’s been through is more than he can handle. In the end, Dean helps him up. It goes well, until the fabric of Dean’s shirt brushes against one of the deeper cuts on his back. Sam whimpers in pain, and the world freezes.

“Sorry.” It’s barely a whisper, but Sam can hear the levels of regret in Dean’s voice. Shifting his grip, Dean sets him on his knees, steps back at Sam’s nod. Sam takes a deep, shaky breath, focusing his eyes on a spot on the floor.

“Hands behind your back.”

Sam inhales sharply, panic paralyzing him momentarily. _What else can he do to me?_ It’s a wild thought, desperate – but he dares not voice it. He knows his arms are shaking as he puts his wrists together behind his back. Dean is the one who works the quick release – clipping the cuffs together.

Castiel stands in front of him, dominating Sam’s attention, even as he dares not look higher than the tips of the angel’s shoes. “You’ve done well, Sam.”

Sam feels a flush crawling across his skin, irrationally pleased at the praise. His cock stiffens between his legs, but he stays quiet. Nothing Cas has said can be interpreted as direction for him to speak. “Your submission is absolute, your confession nearly complete.”

Sam’s breath catches in his throat. He starts to look up, protest – but catches himself. Tears start to fall again, as he struggles to hold position, do as he’s been told. _There’s nothing else,_ he thinks desperately. He’s admitted more in the last couple hours than he’s ever confessed to anyone – far more than he would have copped to if he’d known Dean was listening.

Castiel moves out of his field of vision. Sam can hear movement behind him – knows Dean and the angel are doing something – but successfully resists the urge to track their movements. _You agreed to this. You can do this._

It’s too late to stop now.

Sam blinks suddenly, confused at the gentle whoof of air against his skin. He senses someone directly across from him, carefully out of his line of vision. The skin on the back of his neck prickles as someone else – he thinks that one might be Castiel, but he can’t be sure – steps in close behind him.

Hand fisting in his hair… _definitely Cas_ …pulling his head up, so that he is looking directly at Dean. The angel crouches in close behind him, maintaining his grip on Sam’s hair – holding him perfectly still.  
************************  
 _I am a sick, sick bastard._ Sitting across from Sam, preparing to do whatever he can to start fixing things between them, and the first thought in Dean’s head is how incredibly hot Sam looks. He licks his lips nervously, glancing up at Castiel. The angel might as well be a statue, given how focused he is on holding Sam in place. Dean shivers reflexively – he has a habit of forgetting just how scary Cas can be until something like tonight happens to remind him.

His own attention slides back to Sam, and Dean wonders how much his brother knew what he was doing before he approached Cas. It would be easier to think Sam was so fucked up that he forgot, but reviewing the past couple hours in his mind, Dean is forced to acknowledge that the opposite is probably true.

 _You’re stalling._ He is, and he knows it. Sam is looking at him with such pain and fear that Dean doesn’t know if he can take it. It’s too big, and the idea that he played any part in it makes him want to throw up.

He clears his throat, finally – forces himself to meet Sam’s eyes. “You should have come to me about this.”

It’s a bad start – not what he meant to say at all, and the shock and confusion blooming on Sam’s face couldn’t be any more vivid if Dean had punched him. “Come to you? Dean, I…”

Whatever he was going to say is choked off with a flex of Castiel’s fist in his hair. Sam struggles for a moment, but Cas has worked him too well. The angel stays quiet, patient, until with a loud exhale of breath, Sam manages to calm down.

Only then does Cas say anything. “You will listen, until you are told to speak.”

Dean blinks, all conscious thought leaving him for a split second. _He really needs to stop doing that._ It’s hard enough for Dean to be here, face to face with all the emotional crap – if Cas keeps winding up his hormones like this, they’re never going to be finished.

With another shudder, he manages to regain control of himself – bring his attention back to Sam. “Look. I’m sorry as hell things had to come to this. I’m sorry I stayed wrapped up in my own crap for so long, and I’m sorry I didn’t see what it was really doing to you.”  
***************************************  
Castiel releases his grip on Sam’s hair – Sam senses him moving back; giving them space. He risks a glance at the angel, and is rewarded with a small nod.

Turning back to Dean, Sam suddenly doesn’t know where to begin. The last thing he expected to be facing tonight was Dean apologizing to him. “You’re supposed to hate me,” he says at last. “You tried to tell me this was fucked and I wouldn’t believe you.”

“First of all,” Dean says, his voice rough with emotion, “I’m never going to hate you. I may want to flatten you sometimes, but we’re family.” He drops his gaze for a moment, studying his clasped hands.

“We need to get past this.” He looks up again, meeting Sam’s eyes. “I know we’re not going to do it in one sitting – hell, I don’t even know how we’re going to pull it off. I just know I can’t keep watching you beat yourself up about this.”

Sam smiles at Dean’s choice of words. “I think I’m done punishing myself for a while,” he admits with a small laugh. He tugs against his cuffs for emphasis, and is startled to see a flush of heat in Dean’s green eyes. Dean’s attention flicks up and past Sam, looking to Castiel.

“We’re okay. I got this.”

Forgetting everything, Sam looks over his shoulder, sees the angel inclining his head at Dean. “I will leave you then.” A rush of wings fills his ears – Sam blinks, and Castiel is gone.

Confused, Sam looks back at Dean. “Dean, what’s going on?”

Dean’s entire body language has shifted – Sam knows that look, the set of his shoulders. He stands up, kicking the chair out of the way, and Sam’s gaze is drawn immediately to the pronounced bulge in the crotch of his jeans. Moving closer, Dean deliberately bumps his leg against Sam’s shoulder – throwing him off balance. Before he can recover, Dean has circled around and crouched in behind him – bent in close. “Cas and me – we had a deal.” His breath is hot against Sam’s ear, sending a fine shiver straight through Sam’s body, down to his groin. “Confession’s more than just admitting your sins you know. You’ve got to say you’re sorry.” Dean’s fingers stroke through his hair now – Sam leans into his hand, welcoming the familiar touch.

Abruptly, unexpectedly, Dean makes a fist – pulling Sam’s head up and back sharp enough to ride the edge of true pain. “And you’ve got to be willing to make it up to the person you’re apologizing to.”

Sam whines high in his throat – no longer sure what’s going on, and not daring to move. Dean reaches between their bodies with his free hand and thumbs the quick release on the cuffs – a moment later, Sam feels the pressure loosen on his arms and shoulders.

Dean leans in again, and Sam groans at the brush of lips against his earlobe. “You’ve got about ten seconds to get your ass on that bed. I won’t fuck you on your back, but that’s about as generous as I feel right now.”

He lets go, steps back, and Sam moves – his body reacting before his brain fully engages. Adrenaline shields him from the worst of his aches. He’s still not all that sure what’s going on, but he knows the edge in Dean’s voice, knows what it means.

He can’t help a groan of longing at the feel of the mattress and sheets against his skin. Everything has been hard edges for so long – the temptation to collapse into blissful unconsciousness is almost overwhelming. Dean is at his side in an instant, pulling him back to reality. The next several moments pass in a blur. Pillows underneath him, putting him on his knees and raising his hips to just the right angle. The increased pressure on his cock is sweet, riding the edge of frustration. Sam knows in the mood Dean’s in, he’s not getting the friction he needs any time soon.

He can hear Dean moving around the room, but resists the urge to look. After several long moments, his obedience is rewarded. Lube-slicked fingers stroke up between his legs – pushing past his opening, sliding in deep and slow. He groans, arching up off the bed in sheer reflex. _God…yes…_

Dean pushes him firmly back against the pillows. “Don’t move.” Sam struggles to resist the urge to thrust back against Dean’s hand. Dean starts fucking him with two fingers, stretching and working him until Sam is sure he’s going to explode.  
********************************  
Sam’s already quivering – vibrating with need – and Dean’s hard as a rock just watching it. His gaze travels over every inch of Sam that he can see, lingering on the angry slashes criss-crossing his back. Conflicting emotions battle inside him as he remembers watching Cas work. On the one hand, it doesn’t look like any permanent damage was done – and a blind man could see that Sam got off on it.

 _On the other hand…_ Dean reaches between them with his free hand, grabs Sam’s balls and works them slow, reaching out a fingertip to stroke the veined underside of his cock. “I said don’t move,” he warns, feeling Sam tensing to do just that.

On the other hand, Sam is his, and Dean for the first time in his adult life feels like his territory has been infringed on. Even with how much he enjoyed watching – and his dick twitches pleasantly at the memory of Sam so tied up and helpless while Cas fucked him – Dean knows it’s time to restore the balance.

“Dean, please…” Sam’s whining now, desperate for it, and the sound brings a smile to Dean’s lips.

“Please what, Sammy?”

“Please fuck me…God, Dean…”

Yeah, he can do that. Dean pulls out, lets go, and positions himself – hand on his cock, the tip brushing against Sam’s hole. His free hand curls around Sam’s hip bone, finding the leverage he needs.

“Mine,” he growls, thrusting forward – burying himself with a single snap of his hips. Sam is shaking underneath him now, wordless sounds of pleasure and need coming out of him in an almost endless stream as Dean starts fucking him.

 _So tight…_ Nothing in Dean’s world has ever felt like this. He knows he’s hitting that spot with every thrust – the one that drives Sam insane. Sam’s still struggling not to move, not to thrust back at Dean and gain some friction for himself. He’s more obedient tonight than Dean has ever seen him.

Still fucking him hard and fast, Dean grabs Sam by the hair, jerks him up hard. “You like it when he grabbed you like this?” Sam nods, short jerky movements – all Dean’s grip will allow him. “He really gets off on that hair of yours.” He fucks harder into Sam, finally letting a little of his possessive streak loose. “Maybe I should cut it off.”

“Jesus,” Sam gasps. Dean smiles, knowing immediately that Sam is getting off on this too.

“Not yet,” he pants, ratcheting up his pace. “And don’t think I don’t see you rutting against that pillow. You don’t get to come until you beg me nice. Until you remember who you belong to.”

A shudder ripples through Sam’s body – Dean can sense him struggling to control himself. “Good boy.” He lets go; Sam’s head flops forward, sweat dripping from his face onto the sheets. “Such a good little slut. Hard as Cas rode you, and you’ll still beg me for it, won’t you?”

He grins, hearing Sam repeating the same word over and over, under his breath. “Please what, Sam?” Dean reaches underneath him, lightly circles his cock. Sam’s head snaps up with a guttural cry, and forgetting all his control, bucks his hips back against Dean.

“God Dean, please…please let me come. Fuck, I’ll do anything. Anything – swear to God!” The last plea ends in another hoarse cry, as Dean strokes him.

“Mine,” Dean growls again, keeping Sam under control with hands and voice and the thrusts of his cock. It takes some effort to keep his strokes from going ragged – Sam has already been fucked senseless tonight. Dean fucks him hard and fast, his right hand slippery with Sam’s precum as he jacks him. Nerves and muscles are tightening low in his body – he can feel the pressure building in his groin now, overwhelming everything else.

“Come for me, Sam,” he gasps – lingering on the point of release. “Come hard. Come now.” And then Dean is over the edge, body convulsing and jerking as he comes. Sam follows only a second behind – hot thick spill over Dean’s fist, body clenching tight around Dean’s cock.

Somehow Dean manages to keep it together – guiding them both through the aftershocks, keeping himself braced off Sam’s back until the tremors finally pass. He waits until Sam is completely boneless underneath him before pulling out – easing himself up alongside his brother on the bed.

Impulsively, Dean presses his lips to the base of Sam’s neck. “Mine,” he whispers one final time.

Sam’s reply is a ghost of sound. “Always.”


End file.
